


Reconstruction

by thirty2flavors



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, brief cameos from the rest of the gang, mid-episode 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirty2flavors/pseuds/thirty2flavors
Summary: Despite every intention not to, Rhys had spent much of the intervening time thinking about Sasha: about her jingly bracelets, her quick temper and quicker wit, her unrivaled passion for weaponry… and the magnetism that drew people to her like an anglerfish.“Um,” he managed to say, inexpert and ineloquent, before his mouth dried up.--Before summoning the Vault, Rhys and Sasha get a chance to catch up.





	Reconstruction

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write an extended Rhys/Sasha conversation set pre-Traveler battle for _ages_ and finally managed something I'm happy with. I get why the game couldn't stop the plot to dig into the "I thought you were dead"/"thought you abandoned me" angst, but... that's what fic is for, I guess! 
> 
> Not explicitly related to [Asymmetry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11202996) or [the thing with feathers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10685532), but they were what I had in mind for Sasha's emotional state by the time she shows up in episode 5. 
> 
> Bonus game: spot the Erin Yvette Easter egg.

The remarkable thing about Rhys’ friendship with Vaughn—the thing Rhys appreciated above and beyond all else—was how easy it was to slip back into, regardless of context or circumstance or impending battles with giant alien monsters. Even after months apart, sitting in the ruins of a space station that had once been their entire world, talking with Vaughn was like muscle memory. Rhys had forgotten (or, more accurately, tried very hard not to think about) how much he had missed it.

“You’re crazy,” said Vaughn, adamantly shaking his head.

“No, I’m right. Snake tongue’s the only answer.”  
  
“How would you eat? How would you _talk_?” Vaughn was resolute. “No. No way. Claw hands for sure.”

“Listen, as someone with a full and proper appreciation for both their hands, I’m telling you—”  
  
“Claw hands you could adjust to,” Vaughn carried on. “You could make it work. You could get, like, robots to do stuff for you. A snake tongue? You’d feel it _moving_ in there, like, all the time.” He shuddered. “That’s disgusting. That’s awful. That’s—”

“Wow, you guys are really catching up on the important stuff, huh?”

A shadow fell over the table they were seated at, and they turned to find Sasha standing in judgment, one hand on her hip.

“Oh, ha, uh, h-hey, Sasha.” Instinctively, Rhys sat up straight and cleared his throat. “We were just, um—”

“Debating a ridiculous hypothetical, yeah, I heard.” Sasha stared just long enough to let him squirm, and then she grinned, perching herself on the edge of their table. “Vaughn’s right, though. Claw hands all the way. Think of all the crazy stuff you could grab!”

“Right?” said Vaughn, without any of the shame that would have been fitting for his poor choice making. “Thank you!”

“Sasha, c’mon, think about it,” said Rhys. “How are you even going to fire a gun, huh?”  
  
“Uh, wedge the claw in around the trigger, obviously,” she said, like it was the clearest thing in the world. “Besides, it’d be handy in a fight, wouldn’t it?”

She snapped her hand at the air in front of his face, and Rhys flinched. Sasha laughed, light and cheery, and for a second Rhys’ heart stalled.

Then she turned to Vaughn. “Got the tour, by the way.” She tapped her knuckles against one of his bare, rippling pecs. “Quite a nice set-up you’ve got going, Sixpack.”

A spark of something that was totally not jealousy ignited in Rhys’ chest, but Vaughn accepted the compliment without a ruffle.

“Thanks,” he said simply. He cast an appraising look around, as if he was inspecting his own settlement for the first time. “Yeah, this place isn’t so bad, really. You know. All things considered.”

“Trust me, for Pandora? This place is basically luxe.” Sasha grinned. “And I speak from experience when I say I know how difficult it is to keep Hyperion stooges alive.”

“There’s definitely been a learning curve,” agreed Vaughn. Too suddenly to be casual, he popped to his feet. “Which, actually, that reminds me! I should go talk to… some of the guys… about… stuff.” He gestured over his shoulder in the rough direction of the main hub. “You know. For tomorrow.”

Lying was not one of the skills that had been bolstered by Vaughn’s time on Pandora.

“Really?” said Rhys, eyes narrowed. “Stuff?”

“Yep. Definitely. Important stuff.” Vaughn smiled and waved as he backed away, callously ignoring the frantic, silent look Rhys was giving him. “Talk to you both later.”

Abandoned to his own rising panic, Rhys scowled at Vaughn’s back; after all, there was a difference between being a wingman and being a deserter. 

Sure, Rhys had wanted a chance to talk to Sasha since she’d arrived, and maybe he’d been sending some looks her way that might be a _tiny_ bit obvious to an informed observer like Vaughn, but here? Now? With no forewarning? He wasn’t prepared. He—

“...Okay,” said Sasha lightly. “That was weird.”

But she made no more of it, hopping down from the table to occupy Vaughn’s vacant seat. She reached for her headband, bracelets jingling together as she moved, and for the second time in as many minutes, Rhys’ heart stuttered.

This was the first time he’d been alone with Sasha since the Atlas biodome all that time ago.

Despite every intention not to, Rhys had spent much of the intervening time thinking about Sasha: about her jingly bracelets, her quick temper and quicker wit, her unrivaled passion for weaponry… and the magnetism that drew people to her like an anglerfish. In his weakest moments, he’d imagined an apology he’d never get and wouldn’t deserve in the first place.

Right now, he wished he’d spent more of that time thinking of what he’d like to tell her.

“Um,” he managed to say, inexpert and inarticulate, before his mouth dried up.

Luckily, Sasha had no such difficulty finding her words. “So… am I crazy, or is there totally a giant headless statue of Handsome Jack with your name written on it in paint?” She spun one of the bracelets around her wrist and looked up at him, her expression inscrutable. “Or blood. Or maybe paint that looks like blood.”

Rhys groaned, scrunching his eyes shut. “Oh my God, don’t remind me.” The awkwardness of uncertainty overcome by excruciating embarrassment, he buried his head in his arms. “It’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Oooh,” said Sasha, sounding amused, “right answer.”

He peeked up at her from his cocoon with one eye. “Was there a wrong answer?”  
  
“Absolutely. That was a test. If you’d been like, ‘yes, finally, a proper tribute to my awesomeness’, I was gonna make an excuse to leave.”

Her grin was as contagious as ever, and Rhys found himself smiling back. “Glad I passed, then.”

“Mmhmm.” Sasha relaxed in her chair, one arm draped over the back of it. “Full marks.”

Unfurling from the hiding place of his own making, Rhys sat back, too. “So… how’s things?  Swindling people out of their money in Hollow Point?”  
  
“Something like that,” said Sasha, though Rhys thought her smile flickered. “Things are… fine.” She looked down, rubbing circles on the tabletop with her index finger. “Quieter, I guess, without Felix around to push us into some new scheme, and without…” She paused, then shrugged. “Fi and I hadn’t been on our own since we were kids. Took some getting used to.” Rallying herself, she looked up again, tight smile fixed in place. “But it’s fine. It’s been fine.” 

It was the most obvious lie he’d ever heard her tell. As much as he wanted to believe it was a sign of how well he’d gotten to know her, he knew it was more likely to be a symptom of whatever she wasn’t saying.

But it didn’t feel like the right time to pry—not so soon, and not when his own closets were so brimming with skeletons he’d had to barricade the doors.

“Right,” he said, trying to match her chipper tone. “Just the pair of you, then? I guess you and August…?”

“Are engaged,” said Sasha without missing a beat.

“Oh!” Rhys’ eyebrows shot up in surprise before he had the sense to adopt a cooler expression. “That’s—wow—um—I mean, wow, congratulations, that’s… I didn’t…” He cleared his throat. “Fiona didn’t say anything, so I—”

“ _Relax_ , I’m messing with you,” said Sasha, rolling her eyes. “Obviously.” She raised an eyebrow. “You seriously thought—”  
  
“Well, I don’t know!” He flicked his wrist like August and Sasha’s hypothetical engagement was inconsequential to him. “He certainly still seems to hold a candle for you, I thought maybe—”

“What, that I got desperate?” She shook her head. “August misses someone who never really existed.” Sasha’s voice was firm and a little bit sad as she shrugged. “But... he helped us when we needed it, so I guess you could say he’s a friend.”

“Right.” Feeling like an asshole, Rhys looked down at the table and brushed a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“What about you?” asked Sasha, and Rhys was happy for the change in subject. “Looks like you’ve been doing some self-improvement.”

“Huh?”

Sasha said nothing, but tilted her head and looked meaningfully at his arm.

“Oh! The cybernetics. Right. Duh.”

With a grimace masquerading as a smile, he looked down at his silver palm and flexed the fingers. Telling Fiona and Loader Bot hadn’t been a choice, and telling Vaughn had felt natural. Here and now, though, under Sasha’s expectant gaze, he clammed up.

“Yeah,” he started, but his mouth felt dry, so he licked his lips and swallowed. “I, uh, had to… get rid of the old ones, so….”  
  
“It’s okay,” said Sasha, unusually gentle. “Fiona told me what happened.” She paused. “Well... more or less.”  
  
Amid the rush of gratitude, Rhys found himself wondering what Fiona’s version of the story had sounded like.

“You look good!” Sasha continued.

Rhys smiled. Fiona’s tale must not have been too unflattering after all.  “Well, thanks.”

“I mean, the yellow arm was like, _really_ terrible, especially with the turquoise, and that _awful_ tie, so—”  
  
“ _T_ _hanks_. Yep. Thank you.”

Sasha’s face split into a grin, wide and impossible to refuse. “Can I…?”

In lieu of finishing the question, one of her hands moved towards his prosthetic, hovering in a half-reach—and there it was, the magnetism that threatened to scramble every circuit in his brain.

Dumbfounded, Rhys spread out his palm. “Uh. Sure.”

She took his hand in both of hers, pulling it closer and leaning in like she was inspecting something fascinating; Rhys hoped that was enough to keep her attention diverted from the way his face had lit up like a traffic light. She turned his hand over, studying the back of it, and then—  
  
“It’s so _shiny_ ,” she said, matter-of-fact and amused. “You must polish it. How often do you polish it?”

“I do not!” he protested, and Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I do, yeah, but… I mean… not _that_ often, and—and anyway, you paint your nails, so…”

“Do you polish the whole thing, or just the hand?” She gave his sleeve a tug. “Is it super scuffed up under there?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is that why you wear a full jacket like a normal person now?”

“ _No_ , it is not scuffed up, thank you.” Rhys sniffed, lifting his chin higher and adjusting his collar with his free hand. “It’s just a teensy tiny bit completely blinding in bright light.”

Even though he’d imbued it with as much dignity as he could muster, Sasha laughed.

“I didn’t have a ton of options, okay? And it’s… it’s totally useful, too, you know, if I ever need like a—a beacon or—”  
  
“Could you cook an egg on it?”  
  
“Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I had in mind.” Rhys glared, though it only seemed to make Sasha laugh more, and it was hard not to laugh with her. “That’s exactly how I intend to use the complex piece of machinery wired into my body. Frying eggs in the sun.”

Laughter subsiding, Sasha shook her head, refocusing on his palm as she drew a curious circle around the projector in the center of it.

The fingers on his left hand stretched and flexed compulsively, and he swallowed.

As if she’d read his mind, Sasha asked, “Can you feel that?” She traced a finger where his lifeline would be. “This, I mean.”

“Not really,” he admitted, even as phantom shivers prickled the back of his neck. “It’s got pressure sensors—helps me grip—” he closed his fingers around her wrist and then released “—but there’s no texture or temperature. Or pain, which is nice. It’s kinda like wearing a _really_ thick glove.”

Sasha hummed as she nodded. “Fi made it sound like you did this on your own.” The confused crease in her brow felt complimentary. “How?”

“Oh, well, you know… with great difficulty, no depth perception and a lot of profanity.” He paused. “And painkillers. Mostly painkillers. It’s honestly kind of a blur.” 

“Wow. That’s...” She whistled low. “That’s impressive, Rhys.”

A self-satisfied grin spread across his face of its own accord. “What, you never seen a one-eyed man install his own arm before?”

He expected a laugh in return, or maybe a friendly jibe, but instead Sasha’s expression washed away into something sad. Her fingers stilled.

“Why didn’t you try to find us?”

“Wh—what?” croaked Rhys, even though he was certain he knew the answer.

“After Helios. We were just in Hollow Point. We weren’t hiding.” For a split second, she nibbled her bottom lip, and when she spoke again, her voice was unrecognizably small. “I thought you were dead.”

Rhys stared at the top of her head, every part of his body weighed down in a way it hadn’t seconds before. Acutely aware of his own heartbeat in his ears, he was glad, suddenly, that the metal hand Sasha was still holding couldn’t sweat.

 _I didn’t look for Vaughn either,_ he thought about saying. _I didn’t look for anyone. Talk to anyone. For months._

Not the whole truth, but part of it. Enough meat left on the bone to keep the dogs fed. That would be the easiest way out.

He took a breath and steeled himself. Sasha deserved the full story, for once.

“Thought I was taking the hint,” he said, quiet himself too. Sasha looked up, a faint crinkle of confusion on her forehead, and he forged on. “I saw the ship leave. I thought...”

He trailed off, lifting one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“You thought we meant to leave you,” Sasha finished, certain and sad.

“Yeah. I, um...” His throat felt thick, so he cleared it and averted his eyes. “I knew what had happened with August, and I just—I figured, all that time… maybe you’d just wanted a Vault.”

He flinched as he said it. Yesterday he’d been running on adrenaline, feeding off the fury and betrayal Fiona had been bristling with, and it had been easy to thow around petulant accusations. Now he just felt like an asshole.

He forced himself to look back in Sasha’s direction, braced for her characteristic rage. Instead, she looked stricken.

Oh.

That was worse.

“Fiona told me what happened,” he said quickly, “so I know it wasn’t like that, and—and it was stupid to think that, so I—”

“No, it makes sense,” she said. “Probably would’ve thought the same thing if I were you.” She leaned away from him, and he saw rather than felt her hands slide away from his. “It’s not like I don’t deserve a reputation. I’ve done a lot of bad things, just to survive. Hurt a lot of people.” The melancholy note was back in her voice, and her eyes were overbright as she into the distance. “Survival or not, if all you’ve done are bad things…”

Rhys knew from the faraway look in her eyes that she was only thinking of herself, hearts she’d broken and pockets she’d picked and her lifetime worth of petty crimes. Lost in self-reflection, she was oblivious to the skeleton of Helios all around them, or the thousands of lives he'd destroyed along with it.

Sasha was such a good person she had no idea what it really meant to be a bad one.

“You’re telling me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Desperate for a topic to think about aside from his growing nausea or Sasha’s silence, he looked around the room, trying to gauge what part of the station this had once been. It was hard to tell; broken parts been mended with other broken parts, the once-pristine station overtaken by a very Pandoran show of resourcefulness. Milling about were people—some he recognized, and more he didn’t—in repurposed Hyperion gear, talking and laughing and occasionally sending him uncomfortable reverent stares.

Across the way, he spotted Yvette, seated at a table by herself. She caught his eye and lifted her cup in salute, and Rhys waved back before he knew he was doing it.

“I guess…” He settled his hands back on the table and focused back on Sasha. “I guess all you can do is try to do enough good things to balance the scales.”

“Hmmm.” Sasha’s lips twisted in contemplation, and she angled her body towards him again. “Like... summoning a giant monster to try and save a friend?”

“Yeah.” Rhys grinned. “Exactly like that.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” she joked. But her expression turned serious. “Rhys, for what it’s worth…” Her mouth hung open as she hesitated, contemplating her words with a flush in her cheeks. “I don’t just want a Vault.”  
  
“Me neither,” he said, genuine as he could. “And for what it’s worth…” With a rush of uncharacteristic bravery, Rhys reached across the table to take her hand in his—the real one, this time. “I’m really glad I was wrong.”

Sasha’s smile was soft, and so were her fingers as she laced them through his.

“Glad you’re not dead,” said Sasha.

“Hey, me too.”

Sasha squeezed his hand, and Rhys was immensely grateful for every single nerve and synapse that relayed the sensation to him. For a moment they lingered that way, hands and gazes locked together, and then—  
  
“Sasha?” called Fiona, barely visible from the hallway beneath the huge arrays of food she was balancing in both arms. “Hey Sash, you in here? Come help me with this. I already lost an omelette to the five second rule.”

“Coming, Fi!” Just like that, Sasha’s hand slid out of his, leaving him bereft—although she winked at him as she stood up. “God, Fi, did you clean out the entire kitchen?”

“I was trying to be nice! I was trying to get some for everyone! I was—oh, shit—”

There was a clatter of something hitting the floor. Sasha picked up speed as she jogged to her sister, and Rhys watched her go before he looked down at his outstretched hand, closing it around empty air. Then, with a long and pained groan, he slouched down to bump his forehead on the tabletop.

If the Vault monster didn’t kill him tomorrow, Fiona definitely would.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on Tumblr: [@oodlyenough](http://oodlyenough.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also please go appreciate this GORGEOUS corresponding [art by @corporatestooge](https://corporatestooge.tumblr.com/post/174860880717/i-was-reading-oodlyenoughs-fic):


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